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In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban brightened. "Now there's an idea! Whatcha say Cap'n? We could carve out time for a little training session, eh?"
Berlin gave a slow nod from behind his wooden cup of pungent rum. Berlin himself was not into whoring or gambling much, except maybe the occasional card game here and there, so there wasn't much he blew his money on. Instead, he spent a good deal of his personal share supplementing what they set aside for the crew as a whole. He made sure to buy good rum and not the cheap swill, and whenever they came into port, he splurged on getting fresh fruits, meats, bread, and other perishable foods that they normally didn't get out at sea.
"I always encourage training and experiments. I'd rather have you test something when we're anchored off some remote sandbar than in combat. And besides, we've developed a fighting strategy amongst us, but now we've got new talent. It might be time for a slight revision, as well as having Hanabaptiste looped in on some of our current strategies. Aye, I think having a day off from sailing would do us all some good. I'll set a course tonight for the Irah Archipelago and we'll have ourselves a mini tropical vacation for a day."

Uban smiled. "You play the harp? Beautiful things, those are. I never have played one before though. Nor have I seen any plays or operas or the like. See, I was a farmer most of my life. I'm from Unata, it borders Yonin to the East. This tiny little hillside village called Oak Hill. Anyway I learned to play on my own as a lad, and I got good at it eventually. But then, y'know, life had other plans. Accidentally killed a man, got sent to prison, lost a finger in the escape, and now I'm a little hampered when I chord with my left hand. I learned to do it with my right, but never quite as well. But I can't imagine playing with my feet!" Uban laughed. "Maybe I'll try it sometime, just because. Do you sing at all? You'll have to teach us some songs from your homeland! And maybe one of these days we'll find you a harp, eh?"

Berlin was relatively quiet, listening to the conversation happening around the table and enjoying his liquor. Mostly, he was watching his crew, gauging how well they were receiving their newest member, as teamwork and harmony within the crew was important--nay, crucial, to success in their profession. Unlike Rohaan, Berlin did not press Wheel to engage with her. The man was naturally quiet anyway, and he was a grown man. He would learn to trust her, if nothing else than out of necessity. Besides, despite having a temper, Wheel did not bite. Rohaan, occasionally, did.

The boy answered her softly, and if one did not know him, it could almost be mistaken for shyness instead of just hesitancy. "Maybe...after dinner...?" His eyes flicked to Berlin as if he were asking him, too.
"Chores first, Rheoaan," Berlin answered without even looking up from his cup.
"Oh. Aye Ca-mm. Chores first. But then...when I'm done cleaning up the galley after the meal...well, I'm not supposed to be aloft yet for a bit, so maybe then? Aye Ca-mm?"
"Aye," Berlin allowed. He turned in his seat to stare at the boy with all the intensity and authority of an admiral. "But don't you test her Rheoaan." When the boy looked somewhat offended, Berlin did not buy it. "I know you, you little scoundrel. You push limits like a conquering army challenges borders. Don't. Any shenanigans and I'll have you scrub the deck until it surpasses even Pieter's standards. Y'hear me?"

Rohaan sighed. "Aye Ca-mm." He turned his attention back to Hanabaptiste. "So....do you have any books that are..." He scowled, his little golden brows wrinkling his suntanned skin as he tried to search for the right word. Not the most eloquent of speakers, he gave up with trying to find something more specific and simply went with, "interesting?" It was not meant to be a condescending sort of question and his tone showed that plainly. He was merely curious was all.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban rubbed his short-bearded chin. "I wonder...could you direct it to me? Lets say were were on land, and you called a bolt down and directed it to me...you think that's possible? Cause I wonder if I could, once you actually summon it, harness it. Bend it. See, 'cause I can summon electricity if it's small, and once I have it I can move it around and the like. Here, see?" Uban clapped his hands together and then spread them apart, dragging a wild purplish blue arc between them like opening an accordion. It buzzed and flared and crackled, making Pieter's hair stand on end beside him.
Berlin snapped his fingers. "Oi, Uban, not at the table. You can start a fire like that you know."
"Right..." The arc fizzled out in an instant, a silence filling the space where the crackling and buzzing had been. "But imagine if I had a whole lightning bolt." He gave a wild eyed smile and a small manic laugh for a moment before sobering. "Ah, but you're probably right. It'd likely fry me, too."

At the near use of his second name, Rohaan's sharp eyes focused on Hanabaptiste with a dark intensity that had not been there since he'd first come to in her little room. Then, he'd seen her first and not Berlin, and growled as a wolf with bared teeth, ears back. That same look was in his eyes for just a flash, just a tiny moment before the expression settled back into curiosity. Rohaan could tolerate the misuse of a name from someone who was new and did not understand...once. But she had caught herself, so he let it go quickly.
"I don't read," he huffed. "And what's ar...ari..."
"A-rith-ma-tic," Berlin sounded out for him slowly. "It's...rajinai," he translated. "Kind of. And besides, you do read a little. You're learning anyway. You can write your name. All three of them, right?"
"Aye."
"Well," Berlin began, "Maybe if you asked nicely, Hanabaptiste might teach you to read. She's got a lot of books with her, maybe you'll find one interesting. But you'll have to ask her, Rheoaan."
The boy sighed, poking his finger into his piece of bread just to watch the soft air bubbles collapse before he tore a piece off and chewed it thoughtfully. Rohaan was quiet for a while as he considered this idea, and even as the meal went on, he kept looking at her, mulling it over. It wasn't easy for him to ask, and Berlin knew it. When it came to their interactions, Berlin was very intentional about gently coaxing Rohaan to be more friendly towards her, or finding ways that they would need to interact further.

Uban absently twisted the stem off a bright red apple. "Are you a music person, Hanabaptiste?" He asked casually. "I myself play the lute and can sing reasonably well, if you can believe either of those things." He smiled, holding up his left hand, on which the ring finger was missing. He wiggled what was left of the stump. "Traveling so much has been fun, just to see all the different cultures, including different kinds of music and versions of songs. Speaking of which, where you from originally, anyway? I mean, I'm assuming you're not from Telor. And, if I had to guess, you're not from Yonin at all, are you?"

Finally, as the meal was mostly finished and at that point it was mostly just the crew sitting back and enjoying their rum, Rohaan reached one small hand out to tap Hanabaptiste's arm. When she turned her attention to him, he spoke very quietly. "Maybe...could you teach me to read? And...um...what do I call you?" Hanabaptiste seemed like a long name to him, and long names were not ones usually given to strangers. But he knew also that most humans did not have three names like he did, which just left him feeling unsure. "Do I call you Hana? Or...?"

In Dark Seas We Sail

If Berlin's smile was already a light, then it exploded into a bonfire when she agreed. He gave a small friendly laugh. "Good to have you aboard. We set sail in two days. Take with you anything you hold dear, because we ain't coming back any time soon."

And set sail they did. The crew had been introduced to her when Berlin was certain that Uban or Wheel wasn't a drunken mess, and he had explained to her what made each of them special, from his long history with the cleric Pieter, to Uban's mastery of electricity. Generally, the crew was receptive to a new member. Rohaan, however, struggled. Berlin knew he would, he expected it. And despite the fact that she had probably saved his life and had the captain's stamp of approval, Rohaan was wary of her. He made very certain that she knew him as Rio, even as the rest of the crew called him Rohaan. Berlin assured her that this would pass, and the lad would warm up to her eventually as he began to trust her and that she would soon earn the right to his second name.

Berlin had also taken the cast iron ball that had given Rohaan so much trouble and, while ashore, had a smith put a hole through it. It was presented to him as a necklace--a battle trophy to be worn with pride--and the boy could not be more proud of it.

Their first evening at sea, Berlin called them all down to the galley for their meal. Rohaan was mostly confined to the kitchen for a few days as he healed further, but Berlin did allow him to sleep up in his hammock amidst the high rigging. He made his rounds, bringing out dishes of food for each person, but when he came to Hanabaptiste, he kind of timidly slid the plate over to her across the table while watching her suspiciously. As he turned, Berlin called sharply, "Ah! Rheoaan! That ain't no way to treat one of our own. Turn your arse around and tell her hello." Rohaan turned, opened his mouth, and Berlin cut in, "In Carisian, and nicely!"
Rohaan huffed, foiled. He glanced at Hanabaptiste briefly, then at the floor. "Hi."
"Don't you take that tone," Berlin warned. "She's one of us now. And we stand up for our own, don't we Rheoaan?"
"Aye Ca-mm," Rohaan relented.
"Right. So start acting like it. She ain't a devil, Rheoaan. She helped you when she didn't have to. She's not out to hurt you, I can promise you that. Now, get you gone and fetch a bottle of Rum. We're going to celebrate a little tonight."
Rohaan brightened. "Can I have some??"
"You can have grog. But not straight. Y'hear me?"
"Aye Ca-mm." But Rohaan glanced to Pieter with a hopeful gleam in his eye. If anyone would sneak him booze, it would be Pieter.

Drinks were served and Rohaan, finished serving, took his seat among them. By no accident, the only available seat was next to Hanabaptiste, so he sat there eating his food and occasionally looking over to watch her. New people always made him nervous, but she was also kind of fascinating too. He was very curious about what kind of magic she could do besides healing.

Uban lifted his cup. "To the Borealis." It was repeated around the table and they drank to their health. "So! You studied magic at a school, then?" He asked Hanabaptiste. "Tell me...can you summon lightning...? I wish I could, but I can't do anything that big, y'know? Just little things."
"What's school?" Rohaan asked through a mouthful of actual fresh bread purchased while onshore.
"Tevira's scales, boy, I thought I taught you manners. Don't speak with your mouth full. Anyway it's where decent boys and girls go to learn things. Like reading books, or the study of the stars," Berlin explained.
Rohaan blinked, looking at Hanabaptiste with a new interest. "You read books? What kind of books?" He asked her.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Sorry bro, we’re full up. Sweet profile pic though.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Rohaan made a soft noise in his sleep, his finger twitching slightly as he dreamed. Berlin's head was up, looking at him in an instant, but he relaxed when he saw that all was well. He'd heard of the Schools, but only in passing. To him, they were a place on a map and nothing more. Of course, he was interested in her answer, but his interest sharply peaked when she said she was training to be a weathermage. Berlin did not know the full implications of that, but he knew without a doubt that a weathermage on board could make his little caravel ship just as intimidating as a dreadnought in the right circumstance. And, what was more, she was apparently in debt and looking to gain passage across the sea.

Berlin couldn't believe his luck.

At first, he didn't answer her question and instead simply studied her over the lip of his cup. He did love tea--he'd have to get some before they set sail again. He just watched for a moment, some other thought forming in his mind as he began to slowly answer, "From what I understand, the lad came from somewhere down south on some more or less uncharted island--not even he knows for sure where it is now. A whole colony of shifters. Imagine that! An entire island full of them. I guess it was raided by hunters and slavers and in the chaos his parents died fighting. He was captured and was to be sold into slavery but he somehow escaped and found himself in the port city of Iranos, some ways up north. He picked my first mate's pocket and the old man caught him. I knew he was going to die one way or another if he didn't have some help, I mean, goodness, the boy was eight and half starved, beat up, and clearly had no idea how to dress for winter. If he wasn't sold into slavery first, he'd either starve or be killed in the street so...I took him. He doesn't talk too much about his past. There's probably a lot he doesn't want to remember. He's a good kid, generally. Devilishly mischievous sometimes but he just needs a good firm hand to guide him is all. Someone who understands how he is. Needless to say, he doesn't do well with strangers, but now that he speaks good Carisian it takes him a lot less time to open up to someone, especially if I say they're a friend."

Berlin looked over at Rohaan through the steam of his cup. "Don't get me wrong. Shifters can be dangerous. The things they are able to do are...well," he pulled up his white sleeve, showing old white scars around one arm. "Got bit once--er...more than once actually, but once in particular trying to set some broken fingers of his. He didn't know what I was doing to him and he reacted. Turns out, wolves have very sharp teeth..." But Berlin laughed it off like it was now just some cute childhood accident. "But he's come a long way. And I tell you what, nothing melts your heart like when he decides to get sweet. I'm teaching him to read, actually." Berlin smiled, every bit the proud father.

"I Suppose now it's my turn to pry a little, if you'll forgive me. You say you were heading for...Ramos, yes? That's a long way away," Berlin said knowingly, letting that sink in for a moment. "To buy a place on a passenger ship would cost you a mighty sum..." The man set down his cup and brushed a loose lock of his straight, sandy hair back out of his forehead. "If I had to wager a guess, you'd rather leave sooner than later, eh?" Berlin leaned back, a glint in his eyes. "I know I'm not really the kind of man your mother would approve of you being seen with. I'll be honest with you, I'm a pirate of sorts. And I don't pretend to be a good man, but I'm not a demon either. But I think you and I can help each other. I'll make you a deal, and you can sleep on it. But I could use someone of your skillset on my ship. I can offer you a place to call home, money, to be fed and taken care of, and some level of protection from any demons you might have in your past. Hell, make friends with Rheoaan--sorry, Rio, and he'll defend you tooth and nail. Literally."

Berlin held up his hands before she could react and said, "now hear me out. You don't seem like the pirate type, and that's alright. I won't ask you to commit. But come aboard, take a share of the work and use your talents, and I'll take you to Ramos. When we get there, you can choose to part ways and wash your hands of me and my crew...or you can join us." Berlin smiled warmly. "What do you say, miss Hanabaptiste?"

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban had a way with crowds. He was the sort of guy who everyone wanted at their party--jovial, playful, good tempered and quick to laugh. He was the sort who people liked talking to because he would laugh at their jokes, look surprised at the unfolding of their tales, and was generous with his purse when it came to buying drinks. Money itself meant little to him. He'd never had much of it to begin with, and when he came aboard the Borealis he had more than he imagined possible for one man to have. He always had a secret stash tucked away for rainy days or retirement, but mostly it was no big thing for him. What he loved more was the camaraderie that blossomed around a round of drinks like they were fertile soil and the ability to forget his troubles, decorum, and the rest of the world for the night. Not that he had many things he needed to forget, but it was just...nice to let go. Pretty soon, he had the whole place at a new level of uproar, either with his bawdy singing, occasionally lewd jokes, or the amount of drinking he encouraged.

Uban himself was sporting a happy buzz when he put his lute back in its protective sack and slung it over his shoulder for safekeeping. Two crusty men, one missing an eye, were chatting with him, debating loudly about Uban's ability to put away liquor.
"Yer too thin, lad. You wouldn't last against ol' Gregory here," the man called Dax said as Gregory gave a confident chuckle.
"What makes you so sure, old man?" Uban was grinning ear to ear. "Gregory might be an ox, sure. But me? I'm made of stronger stuff than most!"
Dax snorted.
"You callin' me a liar?" Uban said, still smiling.
"I ain't callin' ya for dinner, lad."
To that, Uban roared with laughter, his green eyes glimmering with sheer jubilance. "Okay ya old salt. I got an idea. WHEEL!" Uban tipped back in his chair as far as good sense would allow, tilting his head even further back to find his shipmate seated in a corner with a scantily clad lass on his lap, who was giggling as he fondled her roughly. He ignored Uban, so the smaller man hollered again. "WHEE-EEEL!"

Wheel did glance up this time, giving Uban a sour glare that clearly said, 'what the fuck, Uban?'.
Uban waved him over. "C'mere, bring the girl, there's drinking to be had and coin to be made." As Wheel somewhat begrudgingly obliged and came over to sit beside Uban, the girl placing herself behind his chair to massage his head with her delicate hands, occasionally tilting his head back a little so that it rested nestled between her bosom, Uban turned to the two men. "Alright. Since you two think you're all full of so much piss and vinegar, I say we have ourselves a little bet, eh? You two against me and Wheel, here. We drink until one team vomits, blacks out, or surrenders. We each put in five silver and winning team takes the pot of twenty. Whaddya say? The two of you against the two of us?"

Dax and Gregory looked at each other, silently considered, and then both nodded with a grin, fishing out the required coins. A dark smile spread on Uban's lips. They had no idea what they were up against. Gregory was a large, rotund individual, but Wheel probably outweighed him in muscle alone. Uban might have been a bit smaller man than most, certainly more so than Dax, but there was a reason he wasn't some hulking beast to begin with. With his magical ability, he, like the majority of the crew of the Borealis (except Pieter, who had no magic to speak of as far as Uban knew), burned through energy faster than most men.

The barkeep was notified and a maid brought over four glasses and a bottle of dark rum, pouring equal amounts into each one. The first round went quickly, as did the second, the third, the fourth... A small crowd had formed around the table, watching the four square off, clapping when a glass was emptied and turned upside down and making low "ooohhhh" sounds when someone hesitated even briefly or made a face. Under the table, Uban held his thumb and pointer finger merely an inch apart with a constant steady arc of electricity dancing between them the whole time. He could feel it sapping at his energy, but this was a strategy he'd employed many times before.

Several more rounds went by. Dax began to fumble and slow, and after a few more rounds he turned sharply and vomited, hitting the shoes of several bystanders. There was an excited uproar and someone helped Dax out of his chair and guided him outside. One down. One to go. Uban looked to Wheel, clinked his glass to his, and tipped it back. "How ya feel'n Greggy?" Uban's nose was red like a summer rose, but he was steady and still mostly alert. "Y'partner's out. Maybe y'should cut y'losses now."
Gregory made a sour face and picked up his glass. "Keep dr-drinkin' ya twat."
"Ayyye sssir. I will. Wheel, care t'join me in another?" Wheel gave a smug chuckle, knocking another shot back with Uban like it was water. To him, sometimes it felt like water. In comparison to a good fight with blood on his hands and in his hair, the screams of desperate fearful men in his ears, and the rage in his blood gleefully sated, a little rum was nothing.

Other men around the table began passing coins around, continuing to bet on who would hold out longer. They watched intently as the rounds passed and the barmaid kept filling the glasses, burning through multiple bottles. Then, finally, Gregory took a steadying breath and slowly inched his fat hand towards his glass. His fingers missed. They crawled along the poorly lacquered surface of the table, finding the glass and fumbling to get it between his thumb and forefinger. It lifted. One inch. Two inches. Wobbled. Three inches. Dropped. Gregory's hand went limp, his eyes rolled back a little, and he slid sideways out of his chair and to the ground with a thump. The crowd cheered loudly.

Uban laughed like a madman, scooping up the coins and splitting them between him and Wheel. "G-good work mate," he said slapping his shoulder. He stood, wobbled harshly, and used the barmaid to steady himself. "Yyoouu, kind lady, y'buxom piece of ass, you. Care t'show me t'my r-" he burped. "Room..?"

In Dark Seas We Sail

Berlin never once hesitated to follow her directions. He was a man with little to lose, but Rohaan was one of them. In two years, he'd put so much work into that boy, suffering through bites and scratches, wrestling matches, and on multiple occasions incidents involving a bathtub and the boy changing into an octopus and clinging to Berlin's arm. Berlin didn't know back then what he'd been through but he guessed it was a poor lot in life. Without being able to speak the same language for months, he'd saddled himself with a reactive, nearly feral, terrified, and spirited shapeshifter. Many times he questioned his own wisdom on this. He debated letting the boy go, sending him off into the blue, but he knew that wouldn't be right and it wasn't what he needed. He needed a kind hand and a place to belong. When he was about to give up on him, the boy had come into the captain's quarters one quiet evening and taken an interest in the book he was reading. Rohaan could not read (he still struggled, but was learning) but he watched the man turn the pages anyway, page after page, until the boy had slumped over and fallen asleep against Berlin. He had never done that. Rohaan always found some dark corner to sleep in, or the crow's nest--anywhere he was alone. But that night, Berlin knew with certainty that he'd gotten through to him and that he loved that boy with his heart and soul. He could scarcely imagine losing him now.

The woman coolly went about her business despite knowing what Rohaan was, and in what felt like a blink of an eye, the boy was healed. He'd whimpered and writhed a little, but then he settled down and was silent except the soft inhale and exhale of his even breath. Berlin felt a wash of relief; he'd been holding more tension than he thought. While the woman began to make tea, Berlin knelt beside the boy and mopped his damp face with a cool cloth. "Tena osaio je'ola da'ai, kikana," ((you aren't getting away from me that easy, boy)) he whispered, then wrapped him back up in his black cloak like a linen cocoon.

Berlin smiled at her as she returned. "Hanabaptiste? I'm Captain Berlin of the Borealis. This here is Rheo--er, Roh--well, to you, Rio. Cultural thing," he explained. "I might have lost him without you. He's my...well, I never did have a son. But him...he's the closest thing I've got. I'm in your debt. Not many people would help him, considering...They aren't demons, you know. Vokurians--that's what they're called. This one's wild, sure, but he's had a hard lot in life that made him this way. Speaking of...er...if he comes to, let me talk to him first before you approach him. Lad doesn't do well with strangers, see."

Berlin reached for the cup of tea with one hand, but with the other, he laid down copper coin on the table as payment. She'd done more than she was obligated to and he'd be damned if he was ungrateful. He would see to it she was not put out by them as much as he could. He watched her, studying her with his storm gray eyes. Now that his mind was freed from his worry, he couldn't help but notice how odd the situation was. He'd never seen any one perform magic like that, and he could tell she was not a local.

"Forgive me if I'm intruding..." For a pirate, Berlin was mighty polite. If he'd been in a naval officers uniform, he could pass for one more often than not. "But would it be alright if we spent the night? If not, that's alright. My crew will have found a place to stay by now...and...secondly, if you don't mind my asking, what brings a lass like you to a place like this? Telor's a rathole. And you don't seem like a rat." Still, his eyes watched her, but they were not unkind or harsh. They had a glimmer to them. Grey, but with a light to be seen like a ray of sunlight haloing clouds after a storm.

-----

Uban threw open the door to the tavern--The Rusty Nail--like he'd just come home. Pipesmoke, sweat, and spirits flooded his nostrils. "Ain't nothin' like it, is there Wheel? Hmph, and not a musician in the place! I'll fix that. Come! I'll see if I can get us some free drinks, eh?" He nearly skipped inside, plunking himself down at the hearth like it had his name on it, and he took his lute from off his shoulder. He made no announcement--he never did, just began to tune it softly and strike a few experimental cords. Sure enough, a few heads turned and watched him, pausing their conversations to listen. And then he began to sing in a loud but true voice:

"When I was a lad in a fishing town
me old man said to me
you can spend your life, your jolly life
just sailin' on the sea!
You can search the world for pretty girls
till your eyes are weak and dim,
but don't go searching for a mermaid, son
if you don't know how to swim.

I signed onto a sailing ship
My very first day at sea
I saw a Mermaid in the waves
a-reaching out to me
Come live with me in the sea, said she
down at the bottom of the sea
And I'll show you a million wondrous things
you never seen before

Oh her hair was green as seaweed
her skin was blue and pale
her face it was a work of art
I loved that girl with all my heart
but I only liked the upper part
I did not like the tail.

So over I jumped and she pulled me down
down to her seaweed bed
and a pillow made of a tortoise shell
she placed beneath my head
she fed me shrimp and caviar
from a silver dish.
From her head to her waist
it was just my taste!
But the rest of her...was a fish.

Yes her hair was green as seaweed
her skin was blue and pale
her face it was a work of art
I loved that girl with all my heart
but I only liked the upper part
I did not like the tail.

Then one day she swam away
So I sang to the clams and the whales
Oh how I miss her seaweed hair
and the silver shine of her scales!
But then her sister, she swam by
and set my heart a whirl...

CAUSE HER UPPER PART WAS AN UGLY FISH
BUT THE REST OF HER WAS A GIRL!

Yes her hair was green as seaweed
her skin was blue and pale
her legs they are a work of art
I loved that girl with all my heart
and I don't give a damn 'bout the upper part
'cause that's how I get my tail!"

Uban had people clapping along and roaring with cheers and laughter at his song, which was delightfully bawdy and befitting of his audience. "Thank you, thank you. Now this singin' makes me thirsty...whiskey for the shanty man, eh?" And like they usually did, people did in fact buy him booze, which he accepted with a big grin, passing a helping of whiskey to Wheel and patting him on the arm. "There ya go bud. The first of many," he said with a shit-eating grin.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Berlin gave a short not. "Good. Finish up your grub and get back to your posts, and there'll be rum in store for the lot of you tonight. You all performed well." Despite Rohaan's injury, he was proud of them. They all knew their jobs and did them well, each one specialized for his task. It's why he picked them. That, and he tended to find the sorts of people no one else would take. Pieter was an exception, as he was a worthy seaman and a veteran that any ship would take. But they'd been friends for ages and Berlin was ecstatic when he'd gotten his own ship and found that Pieter was willing to follow him. Uban had the misfortune of both being green-handed and branded with the mark of a former prisoner. Exceptions could be made for lawless men skilled at sea and willing to follow orders, but a complete landlubber and a criminal was a tall order. Not for Berlin though. And Rohaan was a desperate case. Berlin knew that his story would end in one of two ways: either he'd die of starvation, or would spend his life in slavery. Nobody, not even the saltiest pirate of the sea, would take him. Shifters were a liability, wild things that could not be controlled and their violent spirit could never be quenched. But not to Berlin.

After delivering some food to Rohaan and cleaning up after the meal, Uban positioned himself up in the crow's nest. Since he knew the wind was favorable and not much work needed to be done in the rigging, he brought his lute and his notes and voice carried on the wind from aloft.

"Fare thee well my own true love
there were many fare thee wells
I am bound for the open sea
A place that I know quite well

Fare thee well my own true love
when I return, united we will be
it's not the leaving this here shore that grieves me
but my darling when I think of thee.

Oh the ship is in the harbor, love
and you know I can't remain.
Oh I know that it will be a long, long time
before I see you again.

So fare thee well my own true love
when I return, united we will be
It's not the leaving of this here shore that grieves me
but my darling when I think of thee.

I am bound for a jolly pirate ship
the Borealis is her name
And her captain's name it is Berlin
And they say that she's a floating hell!

So fare thee well my own true love
when I return, united we will be
It's not the leaving of this here shore that grieves me
but my darling wh--"

There was a sour note and his playing paused, punctuated by a quick "Damn!" But in true form, he continued on. Uban always loved that song. It made him think of Delorah. He wondered to himself if she was married now--probably--or if she still thought of him--probably not. And he held some tiny seed of hope that he'd see her again, and he'd have a chance to explain what had happened so many years ago. She'd take him in her arms and welcome him home.

Or not. But he liked to imagine so anyway. Not that he could imagine going back to farm work after life at sea under Berlin's command.

The night came and went in peaceful quiet, the only sound besides Uban's gentle strumming was the hiss of waves and the creak of timber as the ship softly rocked. By morning, land was not yet visible but gulls were--a good sign that they were getting closer. Unlike the night before, Rohaan had not attempted to come to the galley for breakfast and instead Berlin found him sleeping hard--enough that the boy barely woke when Berlin changed out his bandages. The wound itself was warm and a little puffy, which made him worry. He knew that rum, the only thing they had that was close to cleansing (and that was a long shot) wouldn't do any more good than it had and that he just needed to wait it out.

The boy did not improve. They made good time getting into the harbor of Telor, a typical bustling port city, and for that Berlin was glad. The wind had picked up more than the day before, and by nightfall they made it to shore. Berlin was a quiet mountain of anxiety as he paced the deck upon their approach. Rohaan's condition had declined fast, faster than Berlin would have thought possible, and the boy was sweating, shivering, and somewhat delirious. When he was awake, he spoke only in Vokurian, but not clearly enough for even Berlin to understand much. He needed attention, and more than Berlin could give him.

The captain approached Pieter. "I've got to find someone to help the lad or he might not make it. The wound's festered. Assuming I can even find someone willing to help a silverblood...if we find trouble, I don't want anyone else to get involved if we can help it. Take charge for me, will you? See to it our supplies are restocked and the ship is in good order. I'll do my best to keep the dock officials quiet about our anchorage here, but if it comes to it, bribe anyone you have to. You know what to do if that doesn't work." Berlin clapped a hand on his thin shoulder. He trusted the old man implicitly to take care of business in his absence. He was a good man, steady, experienced, and sharp.

Berlin went below and wrapped Rohaan in his little black cloak, pulling the hood over his face. If he wanted to avoid trouble, he had to be sure nobody would see his blood soaked bandages or his bright eyes, which were usually closed now anyway, thank goodness. He hoisted him on his back, earning a groan from the kid. Rohaan's head rested on his big shoulder, feeling dizzy.

They moored the ship and a man with a parchment and a bit of charcoal approached Berlin, glancing a little suspiciously at him and the vessel. But Berlin smiled warmly in that way of his and took the man's hand, shaking it heartily. However, he did not let go. "Good evening, good evening. Do me a favor, lad, you don't need to record my vessel. It's better you don't. And if anyone asks, we're a merchant ship, eh?"
The man just sort of stood there, blinked, and then nodded numbly. "Okay."
Berlin's smile spread, eyes glinting. "Good lad." And then he handed over a few gold coins, which the man accepted in pleasant surprise. "If you find us on our way out and things go well, there's more where that came from."
The man smiled a bit. "Thankee sir!" And turned away like nothing strange had gone on between them.

Berlin looked over at his crew, particularly the younger two. "Behave," he warned. "I better not find any of you in the stocks tomorrow morning." And then he was gone, striding quickly through the masses of people clustered around the docks with a sweating Rohaan on his back. There were several places within sight that Berlin suspected would be able to provide some help, but he needed to find a place that WOULD. In theory he could force someone to, but he'd have to be touching them during the whole visit and he wasn't sure how he'd manage that well. What he needed was someone he could charm and bribe. After asking around the wharf for a physician who wasn't set on asking questions, and one who had experience with strange, magical troubles, Berlin found himself at an unassuming door. Unassuming was good.

Unsure if this woman he was told of was asleep this time of night or not, Berlin rapped hard on the wooden door with his broad knuckles, knocking until it opened. When he did, he gave his trademark smile and said, "Evenin'. I was told you're handy with healing. Especially when it requires something...perhaps more than medicine. My friend here needs some help, and I'll pay if you can give him some. I'll pay you even more if you don't ask too many questions." Berlin took a leather purse from his belt and held it out to her. It looked heavy. And then, with some of the worry showing through in his stormy eyes, Berlin added, "Please."

In Dark Seas We Sail

The two older men brought the youngest member down below deck and set him down a small table in the crew’s quarters. Berlin lit several lanterns and prepared some bandages, boiled water, needle, and thread. He also found a bottle of rum that he used both to clean the wound (which made a Rohaan howl like an angry bear) and to give him to help settle his nerves. Usually the boy jumped at any opportunity to have liquor, but he was not in the mood now and Berlin had to coax the lip of the bottle in his mouth.
“Big swallow, lad. It’ll make you feel better. One more. There ya go.”

Occasionally Rohaan would speak, but in his shock he no longer spoke the common tongue and reverted back to his own. Vokurian was a lilting language and an accent appeared where it hadn’t been before. Berlin would reply in kind, speaking softly. His grasp of Vokurian was solid, but not altogether fluent. Still he was able to communicate with Rohaan well enough. Berlin kept one hand wrapped around Rohaan’s small one and didn’t let go, pouring feelings of calm and stillness into the boy as Pieter, who was much better at sewing considering he had so many years of mending sails under his belt, stitched the boy up. Berlin’s role in this was crucial, as Rohaan had a tendency to snap wildly at whoever was trying to dress his wounds. Once, when Rohaan was eight and after they first met, he’d broken a few fingers and Berlin attempted to set them back into place. Frightened already, Rohaan had shifted to a wolf and bitten Berlin’s arm hard and fast. Then he was the one needing medical attention. Berlin alone could keep him still at a time like this. Again, he thanked the stars that he found the boy, not someone else. Only when they were finished and Berlin was assured the was stable did he carry him over to an empty hammock, put a blanket on him, and let him sleep.

Berlin was quiet as he saw to it that the ship was clean again. He felt guilty. He shouldn’t and he knew it, but he did anyway. He was just glad the wind was favorable and there was hardly any maneuvering to do for a while; they’d have a little down time after their adventure.

Uban took this time to break out his lute—one of the few nice things he bothered to own. He played most of his life and was quite good at it, but after he’d lost a finger in his prison escape, he had to teach himself to strum with his left hand instead. For slower songs he did fine, but he still preferred chording with his left if the song was faster. This of course would lead to an odd, off note every once in a while. His fingers moved so much out of habit that he often forgot he was missing one.

“How soft the breeze in the island trees now the ice is far astern. Them native maids, them tropical glades is awaitin’ our return...”

he was playing right handed, so his notes were true and bright. He loved music. Though he had a repertoire of old folk songs, bawdy tavern tunes, and sometimes things he made up himself, Uban had grown to appreciate the music of the men at sea. It didn’t typically have instrumental accompaniment, but he Liked to have it anyway. After a while, he was pulled away from his lute to see to the next meal, which he was beginning to lust after even as he prepared it.

It wasn’t much. They always had potatoes, often carrots, onions, and an unleavened bread that usually tasted like sawdust. They kept a supply of salted pork, and sometimes these were made into a thin stew, and other times they were merely roasted together with salt. Another thing they tried to keep on hand, depending on where they were at the time, were coconuts. The water inside made their stale water taste a little better when mixed together, and the hard meat was as good a dessert as any. Tonight, there was freshly caught fish. Just the day before, Rohaan had disappeared into the ocean depths to herd a small school of mackerel into their small net. Unlike some ships, the Borealis always had fresh fish.

The crew was called down for their meal. Since the borealis was too small a crew to have multiple shifts, they furled most of the sails during mealtimes so that they merely drifted along. The smell of pan-fried fish drew a very sleepy Rohaan out of his hammock despite his injury which made him move slowly, and his continued exhaustion made him sway like a drunk. He looked like hell. Despite efforts to clean him up, he had blood crusted a little in his hair and on his trousers, glinting metallically in the lantern light.

“Boy!” Berlin barked. “Get your arse to bed! Or so help me I’ll tie you up myself.”
“But I’m so hungry I could eat Wheel’s filthy shirt...” the lad looked miserable. Though he was dry now, his posture was hunched and stiff, one arm still holding his bandaged wound. Still, ever the street rat, he was not about to pass up an opportunity for a meal.
“You got no business being upright. I know what color your face ought to be and it ain’t that. Get! I mean it, or I’ll put you there myself. Uban will bring you something to eat, don’t you worry. Now go!”
“But—“
Berlin tossed a little piece of bread at him and it bounced off his face while the boy just sort of blinked at it, confused. “Rheoaan, haiadi!”
Rohaan shuffled away slowly, muttering. It took a lot of effort to get up and just the act of supporting his own weight felt uncomfortably tiring. But he never did like the idea of missing out on anything and he hadn’t the wisdom of self preservation enough to stay down when he ought to. Every time he’d been seriously injured in his life, Rohaan was forced to keep moving just to survive. It was all he knew how to do, and this ‘resting’ business was new to him.

Berlin also muttered to himself quietly. Damn, he was stubborn. He shook his head. “I think we’ll spend a couple days ashore,” he told his crew. Longer, if we can find some...opportunities on land. I’d guess we got another...two days? Day and a half? The wind ain’t that strong. Anyhow, assuming the half-pint-terror heals up nice, I figure we can take those two days to ourselves. After we resupply of course. In fact, Uban, it might be good for you to bring your lute along. Find you a crowded tavern and see if someone won’t buy you a few drinks.”
“Yeah?”
“Aye. Anything to give the people something to chat about besides the Borealis being docked in the harbor, though I’ll see to it the right people don’t ask questions. And, most importantly, NO BARFIGHTS.” Berlin looked first at Wheel, then at Uban. While it wasn’t Uban’s nature to be generally violent when drunk, there’d been a few occasions when he’d been drunk enough to engage an unwitting and usually equally drunk idiot. Uban typically won, and not because he was a master at bare-handed boxing. An arc of electricity would somehow find its way into the mix, and that always drew lots of attention. And Wheel…well…he was just Wheel. “We’ll get us a room in an inn somewhere and some honest to goodness beds, some bread that doesn’t taste like arse, and good ale. Not to mention it’ll be a good chance to pick up some good rumors about what’s happening ‘round these parts. Sound agreeable?”

In Dark Seas We Sail

Berlin strode to where Pieter was prepping the one cannon the Borealis had, which the man kept in tip-top shape, as well as the rest of the ship. The old salt always did like a clean ship, and it was something Berlin appreciated about the man. They’d spent many, many years together, and he was an easy choice for first mate. Experienced and steady tempered.

“Hold fire until something goes south. It’s a pretty ship, I’d hate to ruin it. I’d like to see if the captain will just...gift us some guns and powder. They won’t have much coin on board, but they will have weapons. Not to mention rum and coffee.” Berlin grinned. Many times, he’d been able to charm his way out of a battle and have another captain just haul over some goods and sail away, due to his unique abilities. But it didn’t always work. In order to maintain control of a person, or exert influence, Berlin needed physical contact with the person, and his influence faded a few minutes after breaking contact, especially if the person was very strong willed (he learned this the hard way with Rohaan, who had all the fortitude of a bear and the stubbornness of a cat).

“Alright lads,” he said to everyone. “The captain and I are going to...chat. If anything goes wrong, then we show them why it’s folly to attack the Borealis. Pieter and Wheel, you know what you do best. Pieter mans the guns and Wheel will give them a taste of steel.” Berlin spoke more out of habit than instruction, as the two men were very good at their roles and needed no guidance from him. Uban and Rohaan, however, were generally more flexible in their roles, whether it be defense, offense, or sabotage. “Uban, stay on board and repel any attempts to board. Rheoaan, I want to make sure they don’t blow holes in my pretty ship. Destroy their cannons before they have a chance to fire. Once you’ve done that, set fire to the sails. Half those men are likely pressed into service so no sense in killing them all. Just enough to bring the sharks ‘round, and enough to survive to tell the tale of the woe we cast. If you can make off with a barrel of powder, I’ll let you have a taste of rum, eh lad?”

Rohaan pumped his calloused little fist in the air. If there was anything the boy loved more than theft, it was arson. Berlin wondered briefly, and not for the first time, how his mother, rest her soul, had ever handled him. By the stars, what a terror he would be without someone to raise him. Hell, he already was a terror sometimes.

“Good. Standby then.”

Rohaan scrambled about halfway up to his hammock nest atop the main mast and waited, one bare foot hooked over a section of rope while one hand held another, the opposite half of him dangled free in the wind. From here, an aerial attack would be fast and effortless. Or at least, as effortless as it could be to shape his body from a scrappy lad to a sleek black dragon-like creature called a cyradan—his favorite form. They were smaller and much less armored than the standard mountain variety dragons depicted in most children’s tales, but extremely agile, fast, and difficult to detect in the dark. They also had less firepower than their larger kin, and instead of a vast wash of fire that would paint its target with wide destruction, cyradan spat small jets. And their cry, much more shrill than a dragon, was bone chilling. It took lots of effort to maintain the form and usually left him exhausted afterwards, but it was well worth it.

Uban went down to the crews quarters and from his locker produced two large knives and a sharpening stone. On his hips, he already had both his flintlocks, but for cutting lines, his blades would do better. He even gave them a quick sharpening as the military ship drew closer and their flag became apparent to the naked eye. He waited, occasionally testing his swing and the weight of his knives, though he tucked them behind his back when the ship came closer.

Thankfully, it was not a dreadnought, though it was still a warship. The deck was impeccably clean, excess rope dressed and coiled neatly, and the green and gold flag whipped in the wind above amidst their cream colored sails. Their men were also standing by, though they seemed to be puzzled by the meager numbers of the Borealis’ crew. The men had crisp uniforms, each accented with green or gold, and shiny brass buttons on their jackets. As a single rope came over the rail and a little gangplank followed, Berlin smiled warmly at the approaching captain.

“Ahoy. A fine ship you got, sir. What can I do for you this fine day?” He asked, immediately reaching a hand out to shake the other captain’s.
The man did not return the gesture. “So. You must be the infamous Berlin...?” The man asked, searching a little.
“Just Berlin,” he supplied.
The man gave a small snort of disapproval. “How uncivilized. I’ve heard of your ship. It, and you, have a bounty. A large one.”

Berlin chuckled, a sound full of mirth but also mischief. He moved beside the other captain, reaching up to put an arm around him like an old chum. The other man’s face went sour and he actively removed himself from Berlin before he could get his arm all the way around him. “Hands to yourself, pirate! I’ve heard tales about you...you and your devilry.”
“Oh, that’s just hearsay...” Berlin chided, still smiling. But Uban could see the tension in his brow. The pirate glanced to his crew, a silent signal to ready themselves, as it was not going as he had hoped.

The enemy captain balked at that. “I didn’t come aboard to bandy words with a criminal. I came to accept your surrender. If you won’t see the wisdom in that,” he said, eyeing the single cannon and sparse crew. “Then we will be forced to take down your vessel. What’s your choice? Come quietly and live? Or die?”

Berlin gave a disappointed sigh. “You’re right. Alright, alright. Master Wheel, come here for a moment would you?” Berlin’s shoulders were slumped, his face downcast and defeated. Little did their opponent know, it was all part of his plan. As soon as Wheel came within striking range, Berlin simultaneously took a step back and gave one sharp, short whistle to unleash his crew. It was a familiar signal and everyone knew their roles well. Leaving the captain to Wheel, Berlin shoved the gangplank into the churning blue sea between the two ships to prevent any more of the (very startled, now) enemy crew from boarding easily.

Rohaan was a blur. Perched in the rigging one moment and a dangerous black streak the next, a bone rattling cry echoed out into the air, cutting through the sound of blades and wind and spray. If the crew had any kind of hopes of winning the fight, they were squashed then as someone called out in warning, “silverblood!” And that was the last thing he ever did. He swept down, aiming for Wheel in a practiced, well rehearsed maneuver in which he wrapped his talons around the man’s thick arms and banked right sharply, closing the distance between them and the enemy ship, where he dropped the warrior into a waiting rank of victims like bowling pins for Wheel to pummel down in a bloody crash.

He angled upward, pumping his wings hard to get altitude and momentum before turning as fast as a hammerhead shark back the way he came, black tail whipping behind him. Rohaan descended, velvety wings folded halfway to missile down towards the impressive lineup of cannons, which he either smashed upon collision or scooped up in his graphite talons and dropped into the sea with a deep thundering splash. He gained speed and altitude, circling back once more for another sweep.

Uban had already fired off both his pistols, his bullets finding their mark quite well considering the distance, before he began hacking at ropes and pushing away rope ladders of those attempting to board. Several began to swing from ropes, but they were either intercepted by Berlin, who, between managing the helm to now steer the ship clear of the other vessel, merely took hold of their arm and commanded them to turn around and leap into the water (which they all did), or by Uban, who wielded a knife in one hand. The other he kept free, so that when he would come to a man just on the cusp of climbing over the rail, he would reach his hand out and give them a little tap in the chest with his open palm as a bright blue arc leapt and writhed between him and his prey, who then made a “hurghhh” sound as the air was forced from their constricting lungs and their stunned bodies dropped numbly to the water.

Another cry ripped through the air as the enemy cannons were destroyed. It was answered by terrified screams of men, some of which threw themselves in the water voluntarily to avoid being skewered by the beast’s talons or whipped hard with his tail. Then the mainsail caught fire, and chaos descended upon the military ship. Trained men, once so confident, now scrambled in panic and abject fear as orders were shouted and unheeded. Two more jets of flame, and the fore and aft sails went up in bright light like a harvest bonfire. Rohaan swept around again in another great arc, pumping his wings to gain more height for another attack. He turned, glided for a moment, then—

CRACK.

The sound of a powder rifle preceded another cry from the beast, but this one was high, shrill, and pained. Berlin’s eyes turned skyward at the noise, his heart already sinking into his stomach. “Rheoaan!”

The cyradan was gone. Twenty feet in the air at least, was the limp figure of a boy plummeting at worrying speeds towards the ocean. In the half seconds during his fall, Berlin cursed himself for calling for an aerial attack. He knew Rohaan would pick a cyradan. He knew they were not heavily armored, and Rohaan generally did not know how to defend against guns as well as he did arrows. He could run or hide, but not defend, and he hadn’t yet the experience to know when to be on the offensive and when to retreat. He was too eager, Berlin should have known. He’d never forgive himself if Rohaan didn’t survive. Though he never guaranteed his safety when he adopted him into the crew, he felt more responsible for him than he did the others.

SLAP.

Rohaan hit the water with a sharp crack and a burst of white spray, plunging down so deep that Berlin could only see the churn of white that turned the water turquoise where he hit. “Surface....c’mon boy, come up.....” his anxiety was visible, palpable. He veered the helm hard over, making a tighter turn than the much larger military vessel could manage, towards the white froth. “Surface, damn you!” He hissed between his teeth. Berlin did not know he was holding his breath until he saw a little blonde head pop up from the depths and he let out the air in his lungs.

Rohaan was alive. His head was above water, and that was all the reassurance Berlin needed. Rohaan had once told him that, growing up as an islander, he could swim before he could walk, and the many times Berlin had seen him swim, even without shifting, he believed it. But Rohaan was weak. The cyradan form took a lot of energy to hold, and then he’d exerted himself physically on top of that. He was always wiped out when he came out of that form, but the wound he sustained made it all worse. Rohaan didn’t try to swim back. Instead, he focused what little energy he had on floating on his back, one hand paddling feebly at his side, his feet fluttering slowly, and the other hand wrapped around to his left side. A reddish silver sheen pooled around him as he bobbed.

The other ship, once a grand vessel named Brightstar, was now in chaos. The hull had not caught fire yet, but the rigging, sails, and masts were in ruins. The men aboard realized that trying to commandeer the Borealis was futile, and they stopped attempting altogether. The battle was won, and now they needed to flee the scene.

“Wheel! Abandon that rathole and come back aboard any way you can! We have to move, NOW.” Berlin’s tone was harsh and strong, as he knew it had to be in order to get through to the Berserker in his fury. But this time it held an edge that normally was not there, a note of worry.

Uban, now freed from the task of repelling boarders, found a length of rope, secured one end to a cleat on the rail, the other to his waist, and leapt in the water even as Berlin steered the ship towards their overboard companion. He reached the boy, wrapping one arm under his armpits. “Hey bud. I gotcha.”
“I...I think I...I...g-got shot...” Rohaan said, his eyes a little glassy and his voice and body shaking as it went nearly limp in Uban’s grasp.
“I know, I know,” he said softly, swimming back towards the ship even as the rope was reeled in. “But look, we got em. We got em and everything’s gonna be fine now, yeah?”
“T-t-ta.”
“You gotta stay with me though, Kay? Rohaan?”
“Ta.”
“Atta boy.”

They were hauled up and Uban lay Rohaan on the deck, soaking it with water and inhuman silver-red blood that glimmered in the sunlight. Berlin was there, abandoning the helm. Uban, without being spoken to, left Rohaan in his care and took Berlin’s place at the wheel. The captain slipped Rohaan’s white shirt over his head and tossed it aside to inspect the injury. The little ball dug into Rohaan’s left side, though it hadn’t come through the other side. “This is going to hurt, Rheoaan. I’ve gotta see how far in it went. Stars above, please don’t bite me,” Berlin said with the kind of exhausted tone of a man who’d made that mistake before. Carefully, Berlin prodded the area to feel for the ball, and out came a fount of words in the Vokurian language from the boy in a pained rage. Berlin finished and a small, worried smile touched his lips. “Gracious, boy, if you ain’t got a mouth on you. The lad’s saying things that would make a seasoned soldier blush,” he explained, though he wasn’t about to translate directly. “You’re gonna be alright though, Rheoaan. It didn’t go too deep, and doesn’t look like there’s anything too important there to damage. You tough sonovabitch,” he said softly, wiping Rohaan’s wet, matted curls out of his face. “We’ll stitch you up, get a little stiff drink in you, and before you know it, you’ll be driving me crazy in no time. How’s that sound, lad?” The boy just gave a kind of acknowledging whimper, as he was in too much shock to really say much. With all the tenderness and care of a breath of wind, Berlin lifted the boy in his arms. “Pieter, help me fix him up down below, would you? The rest of you, set a course East. We need to resupply anyway, and some time ashore might be good for the lad.”